


Snap & Pull

by bananichu



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, BAMF Merlin (Merlin), Eventual Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic Revealed, Mutual Pining, Secret Intelligence Service | MI6, Slow Burn, art thieves, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:34:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananichu/pseuds/bananichu
Summary: Merlin Emrys — international art thief — is forced into what the government would call rehabilitation, but he'll stick to well disguised prison, thanks. Arthur Pendragon is the poor sod that's been saddled with him (or the other way around, in Merlin's opinion).(Or the one where Merlin is a thief that gets forced to work with MI6, and by extension Arthur, & they're still 2 sides of the same coin.)
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 22
Kudos: 148





	1. a prologue of sorts

**Author's Note:**

> hi. well. okay, here we go. I'm going to say this now — this is going to be a long one, and I truly have no idea how many chapters, but as many as I need to tell the story I want to tell. 
> 
> This is going to turn into an amalgamation of crime shows I've watched, and you lot are just going to have to deal with. Also, sorry if the British slang looks weird or misplaced, I'm honestly just using slang and terms I grew up hearing my parents and family use because they lived in the UK for a while, and all of Indian english slang is from the Brits anyways. 
> 
> Also I AM aware that this is all terribly inaccurate in terms of what the MI6 actually does; in fact, do not use this as a measure of MI6 business. MI6, to my knowledge, aren't even allowed to engage in intelligence gathering missions against people/entities on the islands, that's left up to MI5 & GCHQ, so this is so inaccurate I'm sure it's laughable. But this is all fiction, so it's okay — as long as you and I enjoy! 
> 
> also feel free to come talk to me on tumblr ab merlin (bananichu) !!

An  empty space sat where a portrait once stared out. Blank, white wall that hadn’t seen anything but the back of a painting for decades. 

And if you peeked closely at the wall—out of curiosity or boredom, or perhaps knowledge of something that you know would be waiting there—a small, silver engraved dragon could be spotted, curled up regally on the wall as if it was meant to be there. And if you looked even closer, you’d realize that it was hand painted, with painstaking attention to detail that made it come to life. 

  
  


—

Arthur Pendragon was having an absolutely shitty day. 

A Rembrandt.  _ A fucking Rembrandt.  _ While he had it on spotty authority from his sister that it was an ugly painting anyways, it didn’t make the headache subside or the urge to spend an hour in the shooting range till he wasn’t shaking with anger, suddenly go away. 

It also didn’t help that he had the media, the rest of the idiots his squad called their coworkers, and the  _ bloody  _ Queen’s men breathing down his neck about catching the Dragon, also known as the cause of Arthur’s homicidal tendencies. Lancelot had told him on numerous occasions that it was worrying how much time he spent shooting perfect bullet holes into the calling cards the thief liked to leave behind. Arthur had resolutely ignored his worries and vanished to the shooting range for three hours. 

Arthur was MI6, and every single man under him was as well. They had been in charge of dealing with serious international issues around the clock, until the Queen and the public police threw enough of a hissy fit that all of the cases related to the Dragon had been added to his workload. It was enough to drive him up the wall. 

Thinking about the Dragon was not good for his blood pressure or his sense of paranoia; every time the idiot stole something, Arthur was constantly alert for the following week because the thief had taken to randomly appearing in front of him, all easy grins and blue eyes. It was only thanks to their first inopportune meeting that this odd, infuriating, yet enticing arrangement had been arranged. 

_ “Alright, that’s enough, you prat, no need to yell at him for your own failings, Agent Pendragon,” An unfamiliar, amused voice called out from behind Arthur, freezing him in his lack-of-sleep-induced rant. The fact that someone had deigned to give him orders while simultaneously calling him a prat was enough to wake Arthur right up.  _

_ The terrified officer, clearly a rookie from the lack of creases in his uniform and shiny black shoes, looked even more scared out of his mind if that was even possible. Arthur narrowed his eyes one more time at him, before slowly turning to see who had the balls to try and piss off the head agent this early in the morning.  _

_ The sight would have made him spit his coffee out if he had been drinking any at the moment. A tiny squeak from behind him was all he heard before the beat cop was tearing around the corner; Arthur rolled his eyes internally _ — _ every year, the officers he met for local investigations somehow got worse.  _

_ A man clad in all black was hanging off the edge of the fire escape in front of him, feet clad in beat up, black converse dangling in the air. All Arthur could confidently identify were bright, mischievous blue eyes, everything else concealed by a black beanie jammed down so hard that not a lick of hair escaped, and a mask pulled up so high he couldn’t even spot the tip of the bridge of the man’s nose.  _

_ “Care to repeat that?” Arthur asked, voice low and dangerous, which, if the man had known him, would recognize as a flashing red sign to ‘walk the fuck away from this conversation before Arthur loses his shit.’  _

_ “No,” The man replied, as cheerful as Arthur was murderous, but before Arthur could scoff and turn away, he continued in a ridiculously friendly tone with, “But we both know what I said was true. Just because you can’t catch the art thief, doesn’t mean you should terrorize rookies _ — _ not like he could do any better than you.”  _

_ Arthur took a second to ponder how the man knew the cop had been a rookie (and why he was still standing here, entertaining this ridiculous line of conversation with a stranger) before a pure shot of fury ran through him. He took a sharp inhale, lips pursed as he tried to find a way to tell the man to fuck off in the most politely scathing way he could think of.  _

_ “And who are you to tell me how to treat an officer who is beneath my station and failed to follow orders?” Arthur took a few steps forward as he spoke, pausing right as he was just shy of a stride away from the elevated man.  _

_ “The very thief you were yelling at him over,” The man replied cheekily, before pulling himself up and out of the fire escape in one smooth motion.  _

_ The hot cup of coffee that had been cooling in his hands slipped and dropped to the ground, dark brown liquid spilling all over his shoes. Arthur could only gape, eyes wide as the man’s eyes crinkled in what he assumed was a grin, shoddily saluting him from the roof before disappearing in front of his eyes.  _

Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the memory; that had been four months ago. Since then, he’d been accosted three more times: once outside of the bar after a night with the lads that he barely remembered other than making a quip about the thief’s ridiculous ears that poked out from the sides of the cap he’d been wearing; a second time outside of the London MI6 office where the thief had actually tipped him about a painting he’d replaced with a forgery; and a third, heart stopping time where he’d heard odd sounds from his apartment—where he lived  _ alone _ —only to walk in to see his traitor of a dog, Cavall, joyously playing with the thief—

_ “What in the actual fuck are you doing in my apartment?” Arthur would like to believe he yelled, but he was exhausted from dealing with his father jumping up and down on his back at work about new recruits, and he simply didn’t have the energy to deal with this.  _

_ “I walked your dog and bought him some treats,” Was what the Dragon offered instead, and Arthur had met the idiot enough times to recognize the look in his eyes as a smile, which only widened as Cavall continued to jump around in circles around him.  _

_ “Get out before I have to arrest you,” Arthur sighed, dragging a hand down his face in exasperation.  _

It was almost amusing, Arthur’s little meetings with the thief; there was something alluring about a challenge, about something that pushed Arthur to try harder. It was painful to admit, but he felt …  _ impatient.  _ He felt hung out to dry in between jobs, and it had been weeks since something had truly drawn him, had made him feel like more. It was during these times that Arthur felt the ache in his heart acutely, longing for the days he’d been in the army, serving on the ground instead of wasting away in offices and training rooms. 

Arthur didn’t have the time to worry about these things right now though; Uther had called him that morning sounding on the verge of an aneurysm, and while he would’ve once been sympathetic to his father being badgered by the Royals, he didn’t have the energy to do even that. The Dragon had disappeared for almost two months before randomly pulling another theft, and had done a shite job of it too, if he had translated the rubbish Gwaine had texted him properly. 

“Alright, fill me in,” Arthur snapped the minute he entered the affectionately dubbed  _ ‘War Room’ _ , a little mollified by the coffee Gwen shoved into his hands in a matter of seconds. It was always a blessing when she was in charge of the morning refreshments. 

“Yes, Hello Arthur, good morning Arthur,” Morgana, officially their handler, unofficially a pain in the arse of a sister, snipped from the other end of the table in the center, one eyebrow raised in restrained amusement. 

“Hello, you harpy, now fill me in before I have to actually read these idiotically long files that George draws up every time,” Arthur replied, glaring at the thick files littering the table. 

George, unassuming and deferential to their team, yet oddly enthusiastic when it came to following protocol, even if it meant delivering briefs that no one ever bothered finishing or even starting. Arthur narrowed his eyes when he heard Morgana scoff something rude about  _ ‘heaven forbid your royal highness is forced to read,’ _ but before he could start irritating his sister further, Leon interrupted with an eye movement that almost could’ve been a roll. 

“You know the basics: painting theft, his usual methods, but there were a few things off this time,” Leon looked uncomfortable as he finished, eyes narrowed as he nodded to the papers and photos someone had pinned to the wall dubbed as the  _ ‘Conspiracy Wall.’  _

“Off how?” Arthur asked, stalking over to the board so he could appraise what they’d gathered so far. His eyebrows furrowed, lips parting to speak as he immediately picked up on the fact that—

“He was sloppy. The guards were found incapacitated, instead of how he usually slips past them unnoticed. There was half a footprint found on the perimeter walls, and get this—even the bloody calling card was messier than normal!” Gwaine’s voice had risen by the end, and the observations had Arthur pacing. 

It was unsettling. Arthur didn’t make it a habit to compliment criminals, but if the Dragon was anything, it was good at what he did—excellent in fact, among thieves. And the small calling card of the painted dragon was always in top condition, regardless of the scale of the theft or the time it took. Something must have been off about this last mark, something that caused the thief to mess up, something that indicated there was  _ more.  _

Something wasn’t right. 

—

“Something’s not right,” A tinny voice filtered out of the shitty nokia Merlin had desperately salvaged together one drunken night a few years ago. He had started using it ironically, but was now far too attached to it to actually give it up, especially after customizing it to be attuned with his magic. 

“Well, no shit,” He snapped in reply, immediately wincing at the stony silence that managed to dispart the ancient disapproval it always could without saying anything or even being there in person. 

“Sorry, Gaius, I’m just worried about—” Merlin broke off, making vague hand motions in the air that caused a few of his tools to fly off the workbench with a wince. He forgot how his magic reacted when he got particularly agitated, and he was grateful for the fact that Merlin didn’t have anyone to accidentally stumble on him doing it. 

Gaius was something of a handler, if criminals had handlers. Merlin had met him in a desperate ploy to find out anything he could about his missing father, and after he’d fallen into art theft, he’d kept up the line of communication. More like the elder had strong armed his way into setting Merlin up with the beginnings of a network in case he needed to be bailed out (to this day he’d insist that the situation in Budapest hadn’t called for a bail out, even if he’d been about to blow the West Wing of the National Gallery six ways to Sunday just to escape).

Gaius also was quite possibly the only person in the world he regularly interacted with. The barista at the local coffee shop he saw every day didn’t count because Merlin was almost always wearing a baseball cap and surgical mask. And he shouldn’t count  _ Arthur Pendragon,  _ either, the ruggedly handsome MI6 team head he had accidentally fallen into a habit of following around in his free time. If Will was here, he would snicker rather rudely and call Merlin a stalker to his face, but he wasn’t here, so Merlin was safe to continue to engage in his slightly creepy plan to watch Arthur. 

It was difficult to explain his fixation on Special Agent Pendragon. In the beginning, he had just stuck around to watch the cops run around like chickens without heads after he stole a Van Gogh right under their noses, and he’d happened to stumble upon some massive douchebag yelling at a rookie who looked one word away from pissing his pants in terror. And then Arthur had turned around, and Merlin had been stupefied for a second: sun-kissed golden hair that sat atop a pair of startling blue eyes and a regal nose that would be perfect for looking down at people. 

And then, as he was bound to do, Merlin had hacked into MI6 out of a lukewarm interest from the brief interaction. If he was held at gunpoint, Merlin might point to this moment as the moment he stood over the rabbit hole, one foot hovering over it in thought, and a dark, shadowy figure about to push him in that he hadn’t quite noticed yet. 

Because it was here he’d found a clip of Arthur on some random job a few years ago: bleeding out a cut the top of his head, one ankle fractured from the way he was distributing his pressure, and a bullet wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding from his gut—and in his arms, a little girl with tear tracks running down her face as she clung to Arthur. They were being shot at, but Arthur protected her with his everything, even stopping to murmur words of assurance ( _ “It’ll be alright, little one, don’t worry one bit,” _ ), and at one point that would forever be burned into Merlin’s mind, he had even stopped to pick up the girl’s stuffed rabbit that she’d dropped before executing a beautiful duck and roll to avoid a bullet. 

The worst of it was how good Arthur had looked even then, all bloody and disheveled; the torn clothes exposed lines of hard muscle that stretched and extended in a show of strength so unlike Merlin’s that it sent shivers down his spine. He remembered swallowing tightly at the curves of Arthur’s thighs, the way they expanded artfully with every bend and stretch, and then he had forced himself to go on a fifteen kilometer run. 

Merlin was so  _ fucked _ , it wasn’t even funny. He’d obsessively watched clips of Arthur and the KNIGHTs, a group of elite agents hand picked by Uther Pendragon, the Director and someone Merlin should avoid for the rest of his life, according to Gaius. Well, if Merlin listened to everything Gaius said, he wouldn’t be able to use his magic to clean up his giant flat on the outskirts of London, or be a full time art thief in the first place. But he did listen to most of what Gaius said, if just to avoid the eyebrow of holy judgement. 

“Are you sure it wasn’t you?” Gaius was speaking again, and Merlin snapped out of his Arthur induced coma, shutting down the screen that had been displaying the camera feed to MI6’s HQ he had hacked into out of boredom. 

“Am I  _ sure  _ it wasn’t me that committed the robbery last night when you know for a fact I was pigging out at home because you called me about some insane theory about teleportat—” 

“Yes, I quite get it, Merlin, it couldn’t have been you,” Gaius interrupted dryly, and Merlin could just imagine the man rolling his eyes. 

“But, Merlin. If it wasn’t you, you  _ must  _ find out who it was,” His voice was somber now, and Merlin sighed audibly, pushing the tips of his fingers against his skull, eyes pressed shut. 

He had survived twenty four years of his life being careful, so careful that he’d virtually erased his presence off this planet. Merlin was positive that the only brief tendrils one could grasp of his life were purposeful, misleading bread crumbs he left for his potential contracts to pick up on if they needed. He’d never dealt with a copy cat because it was literally impossible to mimic what he did unless you used a little magic to smooth the ride along. 

Which is why he shared the same worry as Gaius—if someone truly was attempting to copy him, was it simply for the money in art theft, or was it for more sinister reasons?

Merlin was no stranger to hiding, to keeping secrets. It was what kept him alive, and what continued to keep him alive. To even hear a peep of something that could risk it sent pangs of terror through him, and he had to fight for a second to keep his breathing under control. 

“I know, Gaius,” Merlin sighed, staring back at the video he’d been watching over and over again for the past few hours of the theft. “I’ll take care of it.” 

He hung up before Gaius could get another word in, wincing; Merlin would definitely get an earful for that later. He hit play again, eyebrows furrowed and worrying his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched the video intently. The cameras had only caught a glimpse of a man similar in build to Merlin for a few seconds, the main difference being that the man had let the color of his hair get caught: they were almost red, honeyed by shades of brown. And definitely not at all like Merlin’s own black hair. 

Merlin tipped his head back, sighing into the emptiness of his flat. 

—

A stern, disapproving face greeted Arthur on the other side of the door. He marched in, automatically regressing to his military days as he fought between the urge to roll his eyes at the dramatics while also feeling the need to salute. 

Uther Pendragon — MI6 Director, once so highly ranked in the British Army he could run circles around what they’d consider high ranking today, and permanent pain in Arthur’s arse, since birth, unfortunately. 

“Father,” Arthur greeted cooly, sliding into the seat across from Uther that had been purposefully pushed out just enough that he could fit into it. His father tipped his head in acknowledgement, before returning to the stiff lipped look Arthur had entered to. 

“How is the progress on the Dragon case?” Uther asked; a redundant question, really. Arthur and Uther both knew that his father was constantly one step ahead, and anything he reported wouldn’t be outside of the realm of information he was already privy to. 

“Recent activity last night, but the team reported there are many unusual factors of this theft. Indications that something went wrong due to the erring from his usual behavior in thefts, as well as a mistake found on the calling card,” Arthur reported dutifully, linking his fingers together on the table as he sat up pin-rod straight to deliver the report. 

“Any knowledge on his identity?” 

“No,” Arthur replied after a beat; he wasn’t lying, not really. It was one thing if he had truly known who the Dragon was and didn’t tell Uther—it was another to omit the fact that Arthur had experienced the thief up close and personal, or worse, that he’d actually held conversations with the man. 

“Hm,” Even Uther’s sounds of discontent were gruff and tinged with a layer of roughness military men held, and Arthur wondered if people who didn’t know him viewed  _ him _ the same way many viewed his father. 

“You need to arrest this man as quickly, and quietly as you can. Not only are all sorts of British royalty and government jumping down my throat about this, after last night, the Americans have decided to get involved because the Rembrandt surfaced up with a buyer listed on their watchlists for terrorist activity.”

Uther’s words were delivered emotionlessly, but Arthur noted the tightened fists with a slight widening of his eyes, hiding his surprise before his father noticed. He rolled the words  _ terrorist activity  _ over in his mind, tongue pressing on the inside of his cheek as he thought. This was new, uncharted territory. As far as they had records of, Arthur had never known the Dragon to leave a mark when selling the stolen art; for all purposes, they vanished into thin air. 

And now, the first time they’d gotten a hint as to where the art was going, it was linked to terrorism? A roll of  _ something _ simmered through Arthur, and he realized with a pang, he had curled his fingers into a shaking fist by his side. Was it fury? A spark of thrill? He bit the inside of his cheek now, loosening his hands, finger by finger, till they sat patiently atop his thighs. And then he looked up to see his father watching him, calculation dancing behind aged eyes that he knew, were still as active as any younger agent. 

“Solve this Arthur, quickly. See that it happens before the end of this month.” 

A clear dismissal, Arthur stood up and strode out of the office, not sparing a look back. His father had given him all the motivation he’d needed, he thought, a new glint in his eyes as he practically ran back to the War Room. 

  
  



	2. of copycats & first meetings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi hello sorry for the late update !! I can't promise a regular schedule until after finals are done and I go on break so uhhh hold out till then bc finals in uni are killing me 
> 
> anyways enjoy!

Merlin wasn’t particularly fond of actually reaching out to people in his network. It always consisted of jumping through too many ridiculous hoops, going through middle men that always raised an eyebrow when he started to ramble, and then having to deal with the irritating prat he needed to contact at the end of it. 

Khilgharrah was one of his least favorite, if only for the fact that Merlin was forced to wait three days after contact and then get into an unmarked car in a spotty area outside of London, endure a three hour car drive with a chauffeur that refused to speak or look at him, before finally being driven directly into a large, completely empty warehouse. 

Merlin also had the misfortune of constantly landing himself into the most horribly awkward conversations with the man; 

_ “And what do they call you then?”  _

_ Kilgarharrah’s voice was as deep and imposing as one would expect when they glanced upon the man, salt and pepper hair that was combed back to not hide the intense, scrutinizing coal black eyes and heavy set brows. Merlin's gaze caught on the specks of blood adorning the man’s glinting gold rings, spine going rigid at the implications.  _

_ “The Dragon,” He spit out instead, trying to hide the fear bubbling in his chest. Merlin had woken up after a successfully stolen Vermeer in a tiny two by two cell, head pressed to the cold metal of a desk and a water & two pills sitting next to him.  _

_ “Are you aware _ — _ ” Kilgharrah uncrossed his arms, shifting forward to rest his forearms on the table, “ _ — _ that I once went by that name?”  _

_ And no, Merlin was not bloody aware of that fact because it was practically impossible to find out anything about Kilgharrah, if that was even his real name. You only found Kilgharrah if he came to you first, and the thought alone had been enough to keep Merlin far away from anything the man had his toes in. He owned everything from clubs to groups of organized crime in cities Merlin couldn’t even pronounce. Not like that made a difference now though.  _

_ “It’s no big deal,” Kilgharrah waved off, and he could only watch with bated breath as the man fished a cigar out of his shirt pocket, lighting it with a wave of his hand that had Merlin’s eyes widening by a fraction. Merlin shivered at the weighted look Kilgharrah gave him as the elder took a long drag of the cigar, smoke slowly filling the room after.  _

_ “It just seems that you have big shoes to fill.”  _

The man had a flair for the dramatic, and while Merlin wasn’t aversed to dramatics when it called for it, he got sick of it after knowing the man for nearly five years. It was enough that he talked in riddles and expected Merlin to just figure it out, but he also liked to insist that Merlin was destined for “ _ something beyond this, something that flows through the very fabric of time,”  _ —whatever the hell that meant. Add the fact that Kilgharrah was also constantly up in Merlin’s business; it was irritating every time they talked because the man would know what he wanted before he even said anything. 

And thus, Merlin found himself stepping out of the car after drive number-who-knows, rolling his neck and twisting his torso to work out the kinks from sitting still for hours. Kilgharrah was sat on one of the two metal chairs that sat in the middle of the warehouse, legs crossed and smoking a cigar absent-mindedly. 

“Young Dragon,” Kilgharrah’s voice was scrawling, spreading through the large expanse of the warehouse without even trying. 

Merlin tipped his head in acknowledgment, gracelessly taking the other chair and mirroring the elder’s position, fingers steepled together. He let the tension bleed out of his shoulders, but kept his spine straight as he made eye contact with Kilgharrah, holding it for as long as the other required. There was a trick to dealing with the man: you had to show him you weren’t scared of him, that you held an easy sort of confidence that flowed from head to toe and couldn’t be forced, but just had to  _ be.  _ It had taken a few months to fully master it. 

“What brings you here today?”

“Like you don’t know already,” Merlin replied, without bite; even if the other man terrified him sometimes (or pissed him off to the point that he was considering pulling a hit on him), it was hard to not be confoundingly fond of him. 

“Humor me,” Kilgharrah’s words were light, but the look on his face was anything but. Merlin pursed his lips, uncrossing his legs and spreading them slightly, elbows digging down into his thighs in thought. He let the silence sit for a bit, gathering his thoughts and observations. 

“I think I have a copycat,” He said softly, letting the words curl out into the air and sit between them, simmering. 

Everyone in the business knew the danger of having a copycat. Of having a copycat bold enough to parade around while the original was still alive. It could only mean one of two things: the copycat was naive and new to the world, and didn’t care how he messed up Merlin’s reputation, or they had plans to kill Merlin. And with Merlin’s luck, it would be the second option. 

“No,” Kilgharrah’s voice was rough with age as he extinguished his cigar, “you  _ know  _ you have a copycat. And we both know what that means.” 

Merlin nodded slowly, vision unfocusing as he stared at the tendrils of smoke surrounding them. It was one thing to think something was unnatural, it was another to know and recognize unnatural occurrences around you. He eyed the curling lines of smoke with wary curiosity, sliding his gaze back to Kilgharrah, who had a hint of smugness in the curl of his lips. 

“Use your gift, young Dragon. Use it, and everything will turn out alright,” Kilgharrah’s words were spoken with a gravitas that Merlin hadn’t been prepared for, and it made him arch an eyebrow in question. 

“What does that me—”

“Unfortunately, our time is up,” Kilgharrah interrupted an open mouthed Merlin, rising smoothly out of his chair just as another car rolled into the warehouse, as black as the one he came in but much bigger, and more expensive looking. 

“ _ Kilgharr _ —” 

“We will meet again when it is willed, Merlin.” 

And then the warehouse was empty, save for the car idling behind Merlin. He snapped his mouth shut, letting the irritation roll off him. He should have known; Kilgharrah was notorious for dropping enigmatic, twisting words of advice that eventually built into real answers. The man didn’t have a single straightforward bone in his body, and it never ceased to drive Merlin crazy. 

And, as usual, he was left with more questions than answers.  _ Use his gift?  _ That was like telling anyone else to use their head, or their hands. Merlin didn’t just use his “gift” during special occasions, he used it for everything—from cleaning his apartment because he was too tired after a heist, to helping slip past guards unnoticed. He didn’t even know how to specifically use it for this, but Merlin knew it would bite him in the ass if he didn’t at least make an attempt. 

“Take me home, Joe,” Merlin slid into the car with a sigh, arms crossed and head pounding with the beginnings of a migraine. 

He needed to fix this, before it spiraled into something he couldn’t fix anymore. 

—

Arthur was no stranger to bureaucratic demands and the barriers of matters behind red tape, but this was starting to cross a line he didn’t know he had. 

“ _ Shoot on sight?  _ Are you serious?” Gwaine’s voice was tinted with incredulity, filling the already packed room. 

“No, I’m just pulling your leg as a late April fool’s joke— _ yes,  _ I’m bloody serious, I have administration up my ass about putting this case to death,” Arthur sighed, slumping into his seat as he spoke. Morgana gave him a commiserating look; she spent most of her time dealing with the assholes on top, and had a lifetime’s worth of complaints about them. 

“If we can’t manage to arrest him, we have to  _ kill  _ him?” Lance looked sick to his stomach; it’s not as if his squad hadn’t killed people, but it was born from dire need. Not a bureaucratic need to get the media off their backs. 

“I mean,” Leon cut in, brows furrowed in thought, “he did kill a guard in the Bellini stealing last week—I’m assuming that’s why this order was issued?” 

That was a whole other issue; Arthur had been stupefied at the phone call he’d gotten a week ago at four in the morning, a practically hysterical Gwen yelling in his ear to  _ ‘get down to the National Gallery right now before the media have a field day with this.’  _ The sight of a guard shot square in the head, laying on his back in the portrait wing, had been enough to push Arthur into a bar visit with the men that night. 

It was inexplicable to understand, but Arthur had been filled with rage at the sight of the body. Rage, and betrayal, a feeling of trust lost that he didn’t fully understand, and had no desire to either. He remembered crouching there, eyes carefully raking across the body and a feeling of tightness spreading through his chest. 

“Yes,” Morgana replied tersely in his stead, legs crossed tightly and a displeased downset to her lips. Gwen was mirroring her next to Lance, a slight shake to her head even as she pulled up the photographs from the murder scene on the board. 

“The guard was shot with a 9mm gemtech lunar 9, and from the lack of noise reports at the time, we can assume with a silencer attached,” Gwen’s voice had slipped into the tone they joked sounded like a computer, tone unchanging as she pulled up a picture of the gun they’d found sitting innocently on the desk. 

Arthur found his grip around his pen tightening with every word, and he already knew his lips would be pressed into a thin line that Gwaine liked to call him out for and tease every time he got pissed. He swallowed, eyes glued to the body on the screen, letting the murmurs of the room wash over him. Arthur couldn’t fathom this immense wave of emotion crashing through him—he didn’t even  _ know _ the man behind this, for fuck’s sake. 

“And this happened around 2 in the morning, but was discovered an hour later when the next shift came to switch. It was at this time they also discovered the missing Bellini, which, while not verified yet, is assumed to have been stolen using the same methods the Dragon usually does,” Gwen continued, sliding to photographs of the Bellini as well as the empty space on the wall after the theft. 

“Never expected this guy to up and kill someone,” Perceival’s contemplating words cut into Arthur’s thoughts, and he glanced up to see his men sharing not so subtle looks. 

“Not helping things, mate,” Elyan murmured from where he was perched with his laptop, raised eyebrows visible over the screen. Arthur narrowed his eyes at the fleeting looks sent his way, idly spinning his pen in his fingers. 

“Yeah,” Gwaine snorted, sharing a conspiring look with anyone’s eyes he could catch, “don’t want the Princess’s knickers getting all twisted.” 

“And what,” Arthur finally spoke up, voice low and one eyebrow raised even as his eyes were trained on the table, “exactly is that supposed to mean, Gwaine?” 

The mood of the room immediately dropped, a tense silence drawing up between everyone. They were all privy to the fact that the Dragon had been routinely dropping in on Arthur for the past few months, but few except Morgana and Leon really knew how he’d gotten almost perversely attached to the thief. 

Arthur had no appreciation for the way he could feel his throat closing up, or the way his feet were pressing with a little too much force into the floor. All he could think about was the body, the trail of blood from the gunshot, all of the signs pointing to this being done by the Dragon. A man he’d let live after entering his home unannounced, a man he’d talked to casually about something he should have been arresting him for. 

“It means,  _ Princess— _ ” Gwaine began, voice cutting into the terse silence. 

“It means that you  _ idiots  _ should spend your time coming up with ways to successfully arrest him instead of preparing to kill a man,” Morgana cut in, eyes as sharp as her voice. Gwaine shot her a cowed look, which Arthur mimicked with a slight tilt of his head. 

She was right. It wouldn’t do to be preparing a grave for a man before anything even happened. Arthur pushed down what he’d been feeling before, taking a deep breath as he fixed his eyes on the wall with all of ideas and plans. His eye caught on a paper exhibiting the new pieces coming to a local museum, lips curling into a smile. 

There were plans to be made. 

—

Merlin rested his elbow on the edge of the bar, eyes narrowed as he cast them about the main lobby of the museum. The place was absolutely milling with people, men dressed to the nines in sharp black suits and ties, while the women glittered and sparkled with dresses that had trains he’d almost stumbled on a few times already. The champagne flute he’d been nursing for the past thirty minutes was still full, staying clasped in his fingers for appearances’ sake. 

Instead, all of Merlin’s attention was focused on the conspicuous group of men in the center of the room, especially one man in particular. They stood out, suits just a tad sharper, appearance far more groomed than others, younger than the elder investors filling the room. A halo of gold seemed to light up the middle of their group, and Merlin couldn’t tear his gaze away. 

Arthur Pendragon stood out amongst all of them, blue eyes bright and dancing with life as he talked with a man with long, brown hair on his right, and a beautiful, black haired woman curled around a man with ginger curls. If Merlin was in his right mind he’d easily have identified them as Gwaine, Morgana, and Leon, but his brain wasn’t quite working at the sight of Arthur in a clean tuxedo, white shirt impressively stretched across his chest and a black tie lining the thick lines of his neck in a way that had Merlin’s gaze lingering. 

_ “You actually canvassing the place or too busy ogling your bloke?”  _ A teasing voice broke into Merlin’s thoughts, tinny audio filling his ear. 

“Shut it, Will, I am doing no such thing,” Merlin bit back, voice lower than a murmur as he ripped his eyes off Arthur to continue observing the various cameras. There were countless, and more than not were trained on the very center of the room, where the new exhibit of some ridiculously expensive royal jewelry was sat. Jewelry that Merlin planned on becoming the new owner of very soon. 

_ “You realize I can watch you on _ — _ oh, thirty five cameras _ — _ doing exactly that, right? You’re not exactly subtle, mate,”  _ Will retorted, and Merlin could hear the smirk in the man’s voice. 

“I’m never asking you for help again,” Merlin said pointedly, rolling his eyes at the amused laughter he got in response. He downed the champagne in one go, letting the liquid sit in his mouth for a second, wishing it was stronger. 

Will may be a teasing bastard, but he was one of the two people he trusted in the entire world. It was difficult, though, having your best friend halfway across the country constantly because the bastard had been forced to become a remote hacker after leaking too many national secrets. Merlin had nearly pissed himself laughing when Will had called him in a panic one night, complaining that Gaius was trying to make him look like  _ ‘that bloody git of a snake, Malfoy,’  _ with platinum blond hair dye. Identity and appearance changes were the worst part of leaving the country, and he was sure poor Will’s hair was falling out from all that bleach and dye. 

“Need a new drink?” A suspiciously familiar voice asked from Merlin’s side, making him jolt. He’d been so wrapped up in Will’s teasing that he’d let the situation get away from him, and it was definitely about to bite him in the ass. 

Because standing next to him, in all his blonde, blue-eyed, muscular glory, was Arthur Pendragon, a raised eyebrow and teasing grin playing on his lips. Merlin could only stare for a moment, heart pounding in his ears as the eyebrow on Arthur’s face raised higher and higher. 

“I—” Merlin cut himself off, taking a moment to purposefully switch into a ridiculous mimicry of an American accent, “—yes, I’d love another.” 

“Alright,” Arthur acquiesced with an amused look, turning back to one of the bartenders. “Two more champagnes, please.” 

Merlin took the drink with barely shaking fingers, proud of himself for pulling off a nonchalant smile in thanks even at the sound of Will shrieking in half amusement and half disbelief in his ears. Arthur gave him a grin that could probably magically whisk the panties off anyone if he wished, and Merlin’s heart did a few cartwheels and flips. 

“I’ve never seen you around—and trust me, my sister and I come to enough of these trivial events that I’d remember a face like yours,” Arthur finished smoothly with a smirk, and Merlin hoped he could blame the flush no doubt on his face on the alcohol. 

“Friend of mine didn’t feel like coming, so I took his invitation,” Merlin offered as an answer, taking a small sip before continuing with: “but if I knew a bloke like you came to these poncy things, maybe I’d come to more of them.” 

_ “Oh, Merls, you smooth bastard, you,”  _ Will whistled lowly, sounding impressed, and he had no doubt the other was thinking of the years Merlin had spent utterly failing to charm men into his bed after discovering that his tastes lied with the same team.  _ “Nice touch with the accent, too.”  _

“Oh, is that so?” Arthur’s voice was low, reminding Merlin oddly of their first meeting. But this lowness was a different sort of danger, a feeling that sent warm pulses through Merlin and made him want to say fuck the job and drag Arthur back to his hotel room. 

He took a moment to observe their body language, breathing softly through his nose at the closeness. Merlin was leaned into Arthur’s space, but the other was pushing into his just as much, knees practically pressed together and noses a margin of inches away from each other. He could count the individual lashes on Arthur’s eyelids, golden and brushing his cheek with every blink. 

_ “You going to kiss him right in front of all those old fuckers?”  _ Will’s tone was amused, and Merlin had the urge to pull his earpiece out and stomp it into pieces. 

Before Merlin could reply, or say fuck all to everything and surge in to kiss Arthur, or move away, their tiny bubble was broken by the sound of heels slamming against marble and a pale hand smacking the back of Arthur’s head. Merlin jumped back, eyes wide as he took in Morgana and Gwaine, the first rolling her eyes and the other leering between Arthur and Merlin with an eager grin. 

“ _ Arthur,  _ we have things to do and people to talk to—”

“Princess, who’s this?” Gwaine cut into the beginning of what was likely a practiced tirade from Morgana, ignoring the immediate death glare he got from the woman. 

“I, ah, well…” Arthur trailed off, shooting a helpless look at Merlin who realized that they’d barely talked before somehow ending up in a situation where they were seconds away from most likely violently snogging in front of a whole room of people. 

“My name’s Emrys,” Merlin cut in smoothly with the name he routinely used for contracts, shaking Gwaine and Morgana’s hands with his business smile. He didn’t miss the unimpressed squint in Morgana’s eyes, or the teasing waggle of Gwaine’s brows towards Arthur as they pulled away. 

_ “Mate, yer being surrounded by an awful lot of people that are in charge of killing you,”  _ Will warned, and Merlin could hear the nervousness in his voice. 

That had been one hell of a shocker to come across; after the copycat struck again, Merlin had been furious. Not only was the man stealing shit below his paygrade (a  _ Bellini?  _ Really? He may as well have stolen the washroom sign), the bloke was going around killing people under Merlin’s name. He didn’t kill on his jobs, not after he’d gone clean. And Merlin didn’t need a green-horned little shit going around sullying his reputation. 

“While I’d love to stay and chat, I do have to be going,” Arthur sounded genuinely apologetic, and it had a small smile bloom on Merlin’s face. He nodded, a little heat simmering in his gut at the way Arthur laid his hand on Merlin’s lower back for just a second, fingers splayed across him. 

_ “And you need to be going too, Merls.”  _

“I’ll see you at the next event then, a-ah…” Merlin cut himself off, making it sound like he’d been about to trail off instead of saying  _ ‘Arthur _ .’ There was really no way of explaining how he already knew the man’s name that didn’t make him suspicious or sound like a stalker. 

“Arthur Pendragaon,” Arthur answered, a smile that took up his whole face paired with the name. Merlin let himself smile back, ignoring the tight swirl of guilt at lying to Arthur’s face; it was nothing—he was used to lying, and he had to, to stay alive. 

“I’ll see you next time, Arthur,” Merlin amended, resting his elbow back on the bar as Arthur grinned blindingly at him once more, before giving into Morgana’s pulls on his arm and disappearing into the crowd. Even Gwaine gave him a jaunty little wave before following them, and Merlin finally let the smile drop from his lips. 

_ “I’m all for letting you have your fill of window shopping, mate, but you really can’t be talking to these fellows. You know they’d shoot you without a thought,”  _ Will’s voice was gentle, like Merlin wasn’t aware of the very real danger he had been in at that moment. 

“I know, Will, I know,” Merlin murmured, eyes stuck on the head of blonde bobbing through the sea of people. 

The image of blue eyes and pink lips pulled into a teasing smirk were stuck in Merlin’s head as he headed out into the night, head bowed and preparing himself for another job. 

  
  



	3. coffee & sabotage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok wow this is a rlly quick update don't get used to it lmao I'm about to hit finals week after this weekend ;P 
> 
> anyways, I didn't have time to do lots of research for this section, so if anything seems wildly off... oops? 
> 
> enjoy and drop a comment if you'd like !!

Arthur couldn’t concentrate. He stared down at the growing puddle of water on his kitchen counter in mystified silence for a few seconds, eyes tracking the liquid pouring out the sides of his cup without really acknowledging it. 

“Mate! Oi! What are you doing?” Gwaine’s sharp voice cut into the blankness that was Arthur’s mind, and he abruptly set the pitcher down on the counter. Arthur could only watch some of the water roll off the counter and onto his bare feet, barely feeling the cold water seep into his skin as he shared a confused look with Gwaine. 

“Arthur, what in the world is going on with you?” Leon was the one to ask this time, and he glanced over to see one of his oldest friends watching the scene with a raised eyebrow. 

And wasn’t that the million dollar question? Arthur wished he knew the answer, because he would be jumping up and down and smacking the red buzzer right now if he could answer Leon properly. His mind had been a mess since two nights ago, thoughts jumbled and concentration completely shot. It was the reason he had the entire team occupying his flat instead of their perfectly respectable flats (which, really, were only a few doors down because the lot of them had serious abandonment issues). 

The other day, Arthur had shown up at work without his badge and had only been allowed in because Lancelot had run down to let him up, a hundred questions sitting on his tongue that had no doubt been silenced by the sight of his boss looking one step away from having a mental breakdown. He’d also been off all day at work, barely having the energy to snap his usual  _ ‘harpy’ _ at his sister when she nipped off his lunch. And to top it all off, Arthur had let  _ Valiant _ of all people put him flat on his back during training yesterday, and he hadn’t even bitched about it after. To say his team was alarmed was an understatement. 

“It’s because of that lad isn’t it— _ Emrys,  _ was it?” Morgana asked loftily from her position on the loveseat, eyes flashing from under a thin layer of mascara and dark eyeshadow that meant she’d tricked some rookie into a date later tonight. 

“No,” Arthur snapped in reflex, immediately regretting it when she smiled like a cat that got the cream. He sagged when even Percival shot him a disbelieving look from where he was busy destroying Elyan at Halo; if Percival was alarmed enough to give Arthur looks, he knew he was truly and utterly fucked. 

“I don’t even know anything about him,” Arthur sighed, dragging a hand down his face, letting the hand on the counter support his weight as he slumped forward. He ignored the practically cackles coming from Morgana’s direction to see Gwaine looking down at him in contemplation. 

And that was the problem. Here he was, having a conniption over some man he didn’t even know. Arthur had been immediately taken in by the cheekbones and mischievous blue eyes of the man he’d spotted from afar at the exhibit’s opening night. It had gotten ridiculous enough that he’d started dreaming of the man, flashes of expanses of milky white skin spread out under him, a stark contrast to the tan Arthur had adopted after years of sports and physical exercise. 

“You’re right—none of us do.” 

“What do you mean?” Arthur was immediately suspicious at the words Gwaine had chosen, the tiny sensors on the back of his head saying he was about to hear something that would piss him off, or make him pray for a different team assignment. 

“Well, the lads might’ve convinced me to do a little…,” Gwen trailed off, speaking for the first time that night with a sheepish look, “ …  _ research  _ on your mystery man.” 

“Research,” Arthur repeated skeptically, eyes narrowed at the not so subtle way most of his men had decided to not make eye contact with him at that moment. Lance was the only one who caught Arthur’s gaze, a  _ ‘what-can-you-do,’ _ look on his face; Arthur rolled his eyes—the bravest of the Queen’s men, reduced to cartoon character levels of avoidance when their commanding officer asked questions. 

“And?” 

“And?!” Gwen squeaked, eyes wide. Arthur had to hold back a laugh; the woman was fearless in the office, but you took her out of MI6, and she started acting like she  _ wasn’t  _ the smartest person in the room. 

“ _ And,  _ Guinevere, what did you find out?” 

At hearing the exasperated, but curious tone that they were used to hearing when Arthur was about to give in to their demands, most of the room perked up, Gwen included, mouth opening to move a mile a minute. 

“It’s actually quite fascinating! I mean, he didn’t give you anything other than Emrys, and even the name he entered the event with didn’t include any other information because he used a friend’s invitation. I first searched through with the images picked up off the museum’s tapes, but it didn’t really work out because he was  _ very  _ tricky to capture on the cameras; his face is always turned away or obscured by something, but when you guys were talking I managed to get a really quite excellent profile of Emrys. And sir, I must say, this fellow is extremely attractive, with those cheekbones—oh, gosh, not that you aren’t Lance—oh, dear—” 

“Gwen,” Arthur chided gently, snorting when the woman immediately cut herself off with a tiny smile that was more embarrassed than anything else. 

“But yes, I did some image tracking with that, and I managed to find a clip of him entering a small coffee shop in the West End,” Gwen looked like she could hardly restrain herself at the success, and Arthur noted with a small, wistful smile the way she curled into Lance’s hold when he put an arm around her. 

“Where?” 

—

Monmouth Coffee was one thing Merlin couldn’t live without, he decided. Gaius highly disapproved of the fact that he went here almost every day, but the disapproval only made the coffee taste better. He went at ten every day without fail, entering the shop right as the clock ticked ten once he was done with his morning run. 

It was a sanctity for Merlin; he didn’t know anyone here save for the young barista named Daegal, who always had a smile on his face and sometimes gave Merlin a free lemon cake if he looked particularly miserable. There was also a small little plant that buzzed with energy whenever Merlin waited near it for his latte, and he was 99.99% sure its name was Archimedes—or he could just be going insane, who knows. And sometimes, he’d overhear patrons talking about his second persona, the  _ Dragon,  _ in awe or irritation, and it never failed to amuse him. 

But the key point: this was a place of peace for Merlin, who didn’t have anything else that brought peace in his otherwise tumultuous life. And the sight of Arthur  _ fucking  _ Pendragon jogging into the small courtyard area where he was sitting was enough to make Merlin spill a little coffee onto the only clean pair of jeans he had left. He stared at the brown spot morosely, wondering if he could get away with magicking the stain away in front of all these people. 

Merlin looked back at Arthur, and hoped his double take wasn’t as visible as it felt. He raked his eyes over the sight of Arthur in a ridiculously tight compression shirt that hugged the lines and curves of his muscles, swallowing tightly when his gaze dropped to the way his sweatpants hugged his—and  _ no.  _ Bugger to all the fucking gods out there, Merlin was not going to check out Arthur’s arse right now. 

It was one thing to bump into Arthur while he was playing a role, while he was dressed up in one of his many suits that Gaius insisted he buy. It had been nearly a week since then, and it had given Merlin time to get his head into order and realize that talking to— _ flirting  _ with—the man in charge of arresting you/possibly killing you was not the wisest decision, regardless of how fit he was. 

It was a completely different thing for Merlin to be accosted by the man while he was out enjoying coffee from the one place he went to other than his flat and museums. 

“Emrys! Didn’t think I’d see you here,” Arthur had a pleased smile curling around his lips, and it was enough for Merlin to drop the grumpy look he could feel crawling across his face at the thought of having to find a new coffee shop because of this. 

“Arthur, not going to offer to buy me a drink this time?” Merlin called out cheerfully, nearly folding over at the force of Arthur’s slap on his back. He started at the contact, eyes narrowing as he took in the bloody  _ special agent  _ standing in front of him. Merlin didn’t claim to know the man, but what he knew of Arthur and of MI6 in general, there’s no way the other would act so casually with someone he didn’t know well. 

“Maybe  _ you _ should buy me the drink this time,” Arthur retorted with a cheeky grin, and it made Merlin smile, even as suspicion bit into his mind, demanding to dig deeper. 

He took a second to take a closer look at the man, lips pursing at what he saw; imperceptible bags hidden by a well-practiced hand at makeup hounded his eyes, and wrinkles that looked to be formed from pulling at the fabric lined Arthur’s clothes. Merlin racked his brain for what could be throwing the other off, and a quick glance at the newspaper sitting on the table in front of him sent a few alarms off in his head. 

“Reading news about the art thief, I see,” Arthur observed bluntly, taking the free seat in front of Merlin without further ado. The sentence made Merlin’s eyes widen in realization, rereading the headline. 

_ “THE DRAGON STRIKES AGAIN: SOURCES SAY THREE DEAD FOUND AT THE SCENE.”  _

Now Merlin knew for a fact that when all this rubbish was going down last night he was safely tucked away in between his covers and pillows, levitating a large tray of digestives and tea that had threatened to spill over when he caught sight of the news. He’d had Gaius yelling himself hoarse down the telephone moments later, admonishing Merlin for not dedicating his time to catching his impostor. 

And he could tell the police and MI6 believed the copycat as well, if it wasn’t obvious from the way Arthur and his knights stalked around the crime scenes like Merlin would be hiding behind one of the bushes (which, he had once, but that was because one of the elderly ladies had yelled him to get off the roof). Merlin had also broken into some police records last week, and was disheartened by how good the copycat had gotten at mimicking his calling card. It was all enough to make Merlin want to hide himself under his covers and never come out. 

“A-ah, yes,” Merlin finally stuttered out when the silence between them was starting to drag on too long and it looked like Arthur’s eye was about to start twitching. He winced internally; so much for making himself look smooth and suave in front of the subject of far too many dreams. 

“You find it interesting?” Arthur asked, but his voice sounded detached, eyes still focused on the paper sitting between them. Merlin took a second to observe the agent, gaze flickering to the way Arthur’s fists sat in a tight grip on his thighs, to the tense lines crowding his eyes. It was curious—it was almost as if… 

“I suppose,” Merlin began carefully, nearly cutting himself off when Arthur fixed a blazing look on him, lips flattened into a line. “Not interesting as much curious about what he’ll take next. Not that it matters much, what with the bloke killing people left and right.” 

What was more was interesting was watching the tension bleed out of Arthur’s shoulders, until he was finally slumped into the seat, back pressed against the metal chair. Merlin mimicked him, taking a sip of his coffee as an excuse to ogle the man a bit more. 

“Not a big fan of murder, then?” Arthur teased, the previous inferno of emotion replaced with more stable ground, something Merlin grasped onto like a drowning man grabbing a lifering. 

“No, can’t say I am,” Merlin grinned through his response, pleased when it sparked a sharp bark of laughter from Arthur, who looked surprised at the sound himself. 

And it struck Merlin then and there—what the fuck was his life becoming? Here he was, sitting and chatting away with Arthur Pendragon about himself in the third person, even though it really wasn’t him but the copycat, but Arthur couldn’t know that. In broad daylight, special agent Pendragon was having a casual chat with Merlin, the man that he, all of MI6, and police from all over the world had spent years chasing. 

Merlin laughed heartily at some quip Arthur mumbled about the school girls gossiping about the theft in the corner, letting his worries fly away, even if just for a moment. It’s all he needed, really. 

—

_ Newham, East End, later that night:  _

“And you’re sure he’s going to try and rob this place three nights from now?” A gruff voice asked, face hidden by the shadows of the back end bar they had settled into. The eager recipient of these words leaned forward in his seat, his youthfulness revealed by the bright swath of light falling over his face. 

“Yes sir—I know we were wrong last time, but we managed to locate and identify the same sign of security tampering that the Dragon always enables three nights before he hits a place,” The man reported proudly, resting his forearms on the table. 

There was a moment of weighted silence, as the two took each other in. The shadows around them seemed to grow in intensity, and the weight pulled the two figures closer together, volume dropping below a whisper for the few stragglers that remained in the vicinity. 

“You’re confident you can beat him in a confrontation?” 

The man rolled his eyes, leaning back into his seat. “I’ve seen his work; if he had more magical prowess he wouldn’t use it to do simple tricks like obscure his presence. I could take him in my sleep.” 

“Don’t be absurd—confidence is one thing, arrogance is another!” The other snapped, tone frosty enough it made the other man flinch. His eyes flickered around the bar to ensure that no one was listening, before once more fixing his gaze on the copycat. 

“You will do this correctly, and you will be careful. Do not underestimate the man simply because all of his cards are not as flamboyant as yours,” He warned, voice low and dangerous enough that it sent chills into the air. 

“Yes sir.” 

—

_ “Why can’t you get someone _ — _ oh, I don’t know _ — _ actually in the same country as you to help you out on these things?”  _

Will’s voice was just as annoying as it usually was when it filtered into Merlin’s ears through his earpieces, just tinny and rough enough that it sounded like grating wheels inside his head. 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Merlin mocked, patting the sides of his pants to make sure the knives he usually carried on him were in the right places, “because I’m an internationally wanted criminal and can’t trust anyone else to do this without turning me into the police?” 

_ “Mate, just ask one of your fangirls, I’m sure they’d love to find out that their heartthrob thief is a clumsy oaf that prefers cock,”  _ Will’s reply was filled with proud laughter, words tilting in amusement. 

“Christ, fuck off, Will,” Merlin replied, but couldn’t keep the grin out of his voice. 

Will giggled helplessly in his ear, and it made Merlin yearn with a hard pang of longing that he hadn’t felt in a while. It had been nearly years since he’d seen his best friend in person, and this sense of isolation only grew with every day. Merlin was being driven insane in his large flat, alone save for the dust bunnies sitting under his furniture. 

It wasn’t anything new; even as a child, Merlin had been alone. In the beginning, it had just been his mum and Will (he didn’t like to think about how it was just Gaius and Will now, how it would never be him and his mum again). Merlin orbited around them, basing his life and daily decisions around them. He didn’t have anyone else—fatherless, friendless,  _ less.  _ He was the kid with ears a little too large for his face, the kid who was somehow holding first position in grades, the kid who’d survived a twenty foot drop save for a fractured ankle that had the entire town treating him like a freak. 

It was that fall that had made Hunith sit him down and promise to never, ever use his powers in public. To never reveal his powers to anyone, lest they ostracized him for it. And that was her before she found out Will had already known for a while (he’d gotten the loudest yelling of his life for that, his mother’s fingers pinching his ear so hard he’d thought she’d rip them right off). That was the kicker, though, wasn’t it? Merlin didn’t even need his magic to get himself made fun of. His personality did that just fine. 

_ “ _ — _ erlin? You there? You should probably get out of your van before I pull the security,”  _ Will’s voice snapped Merlin out of his ministrations, and he refocused to pull his mask up, covering everything but his eyes. 

“Yeah, I’m ready—let’s blow this joint,” Merlin grinned under his mask; he could imagine Will rolling his eyes, already complaining about—

_ “You and your bloody American phrases; you’ve really got to stop watching those American shows,”  _ Will complained lightly, before his voice quickly switched into what Merlin liked to think of as his  _ ‘no-bullshit’ _ mode:  _ “Security’s running in a loop, and the side entrance should click open under your special touch.”  _

Merlin didn’t respond; it was custom that once he said his little opening phrase, the only time he spoke until the end was for life-or-death questions, or snapped orders that Will knew not to disobey. The use of his magic and physical skills was too demanding to focus on anything else, and the chatter while they were in the midst of the theft was always cut to a minimum. Before and after were fair game, though. 

The door clicked open under his touch easily, and Merlin let a little satisfaction curl around him; he’d worked hard to crack this security’s code, using his magic to probe through the lines and hidden traps in the system. And after a week’s work, the system would respond to anything Merlin did, provided he pushed a bit of his magic into it. 

Magic was like a fingerprint, or a retinal scan. Merlin had discovered a way to tie his code and magic together early into his career; he forced the code to treat traces of his magic the same way it’d treat the correct password, or the retinal scan of the head of security. Everything in his personal computer system was tied to his magic; if anyone else even tried to use it the system would self-destruct automatically, while simultaneously saving to an offshore account he’d had Will and Gaius set up a few years ago in a location he himself wouldn’t be aware of till he was free from whatever situation he’d ended up in. It really was a handy fusion of magic and technology. 

As Merlin slid into the building, his eyes caught on the already open air vent with a small, silent huff of laughter. Trust Will to know what methods he preferred and have it ready to go. Now, Merlin wasn’t short by any means—but he  _ was _ thin. It was easy enough to pull himself up into the vents, thanking the Gods for a moment that Gaius had pushed him to do years of PT. His long, lean body easily fit into the vents, head brushing against the metal top of the vents as he used the tip of his boot to pull the door to the vent shut. 

_ “Straight, and then the third left. After that, take the fourth right, the second left, and go straight for 50 yards. The vent you’re going to see will drop you right at the corner of the new exhibit, and from there, it’s all you and the, ah, effective canvassing you did of Arthur Pendragon’s arse.”  _

Merlin followed the directions, rolling his eyes at Will’s little addition. He’d been canvassing properly! And sure, maybe he remembered more about Arthur’s arse and the way he smelled like some French cologne than he did the placement of the cameras and detection laser hubs, but he’d done his best! Not like Will could talk; the other had droned on and on about Morgana that night and  _ “Merls, you think I stand a chance with her?” “Mate, if you ever manage to shag Arthur, get him to set me up with her, will you?”  _ and Merlin’s personal favorite— _ “so, what say you: Me, you, Morgana, and Arthur in a foursome?”  _

Merlin dropped carefully to the ground, remembering last minute to land on the balls of his feet so he didn’t make a single sound. He cast his gaze about, letting gold bleed into his eyes so his vision could adjust to the darkness. Will had dropped him just short of the exhibit, the vent spitting him out in the farthest corner of the large ballroom the jewels had been placed in. 

He spotted a camera moving till it trained itself on Merlin, and he bit back a stupid grin. It was a sign to let him know that Will had full control of the video feed in this room, and it was enough to comfort him. Merlin made one of the hand motions he knew Will was familiar with, and waited for the response. 

_ “Lasers on, in 3… 2…”  _

Bright red lasers shot on just as Will trailed off, and Merlin started at how close one was to him, sidling back till his back was pressed against the wall. The room was filled in a criss cross hatchet of red lines, covering every entry way and large area save for the immediate vicinity of the glass boxes containing the jewelry. Usually, Merlin would have any and all security measures disengaged, but laser technology tended to be a little tricky. It was difficult to trick its system and the main security system at the same time because they often ran on different wavelengths, and it wasn’t worth the trouble. 

_ “Put on a show for me, mate, I missed watching the gymnastic routines at the Olympics this year _ ,” Will teased over the earpiece, and Merlin could just imagine the shit-eating grin on the man’s face. But if he wanted a show, a show he would get. 

Merlin dropped to the floor as he drew to the first line of lasers, the pads of his fingers pushing against the floor and tips of his boot flat against them as he pulled himself forward quickly, not in the mood to waste time. As he moved past the first line, he quickly pushed himself up and forward, one hand flying forward to catch himself on the ground as his legs cartwheeled over the laser in a rapid line of movement. Merlin leaned till his back was parallel to the ground in the next second, huffing as he watched the laser slowly move past him, a mere inch away from him. 

_ “Feels like I’m watching the bloody matrix, except you’re nowhere near as attractive as that lot,”  _ Will whistled lowly, and Merlin rolled his eyes as he dropped into a handstand to give his legs more freedom to move past another section of moving lasers. He flipped the nearest camera the bird before calmly pulling himself to his feet, ignoring the laughter in his ears. 

After a few more maneuvers, Merlin was finally free of the lasers (he was already dreading having to get past them again). The jewelry sat within arms reach, glittering obnoxiously even without a light shined on them. 

_ “The alarm is disengaged. You got a minute to get them out.”  _

Merlin didn’t bother to wait a second; he tore the doors off and swung the small backpack strapped to his back off. Within seconds he had all the necklaces, rings, and bracelets off the displays and into his backpack, zipping it up as he slid the doors shut and made a hand sign to get the security up again. 

And that was when he saw them. 

_ “Merlin, there’s a fucking _ —” 

Merlin cut him off with a sharp inhale, eyes wide as he made eye contact with eerily familiar golden eyes on the other end of the ballroom. The person looked just as surprised to see him, yet for the wrong reasons. It was apparent what these reasons were when the man opened his mouth to hiss: 

“You’re not supposed to be here yet!” And then his eyes blazed gold, and Merlin’s eyes widened when the lasers cut off immediately. He cursed in his mind, which was reciprocated by the loud cursing Will was doing from whatever country he was in right now. 

Merlin darted for the walls, not bothering to respond to the man who was still gaping at him unattractively from one of the entrance ways. He slammed his back against the wall, watching the other draw closer to him warily. Merlin slipped his hand into his pocket, fingers curling around the handle of the throwing knife strapped to it. Will was still cursing in his ears, and they were both thinking the same thing: how had this man slipped their notice?

“Who the fuck are you?” Merlin pitched his voice low, slipping into an American accent seamlessly. The other seemed to draw short at the accent, eyebrows raised. 

“You’re American?” 

“And you’re a fucking idiot—now answer my question,” Merlin demanded, lips pursed at the way the man had one hand stretched out and hints of gold still swirling in his eyes. He could hear Will typing away on his laptop, probably trying to figure out the kid’s identity. 

Merlin had a sinking suspicion this was the man he and Gaius had been looking for over the past month, which was only furthered by how similar the other’s appearance was to Merlin’s. He had a small backpack in his hands, a beanie slammed low on his face, and gloves that made sure to cover the pads of his fingers (Merlin never understood where movies got the idea that thieves would wear fingerless gloves—it defeated the whole purpose of  _ not _ letting your fingerprints enter the government’s system). 

_ “I got it, I got it, this dumbass has got his real identity still floating around on the web, what an idiot; his name is _ —” 

“Ah, Gilli, is it?” Merlin asked with mock contemplation, pushing his weight onto the tips of his feet and getting ready to run. While he definitely wanted to confront the copycat, he would do it on his own terms—not in some forced Western standoff. 

“And you’re the Dragon—don’t even think about running,” The man warned when he saw Merlin leaning away from the wall, hand flying up and eyes blazing gold. Merlin had dropped his guard, and was surprised at the powerful gust of wind slamming him into the wall again. 

_ “Merls, you’ve got to get out of there. This kid’s magic is fucking with my code, and I don’t think I can hold onto the security for much longer.”  _

And that’s when they heard the sirens; blaring and loud enough that they were close enough to pose a risk. Merlin’s eyes widened, and he was somewhat satisfied that Gilli looked to be in the same boat. Merlin was distracted when the lasers abruptly came back on, and thus completely missed the motions Gilli was making right in fucking front of him. 

_ “Merlin, you fucking idiot, pay attention to the ki _ —” 

A fist slammed into his head, and then Merlin’s vision went black. As he dropped to the ground like a stone, his last thought was: 

_ Shit _ — _ Gaius is going to kill me.  _


	4. deals & new circumstances

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow another update... so soon??? also im ngl, I've been rewatching white collar so if you see similarities umm...,,, yeah. a lot of these first chapters are a little short because I'm waiting till I get to the meat of the plot to make them longer lol 
> 
> also if u have tumblr and would like to scream ab merlin,, mine is @ bananichu 
> 
> enjoy !!!!

Waking up with a killer headache and a pounding drum behind his eyelids were sensations Merlin usually associated with the morning after a long night of drinking. However, a rapid sequence of blinking till the white light faded and his surroundings filtered into his brain told him otherwise; Merlin was handcuffed to a rectangular, metal desk (he took a moment to scoff at the uniform handcuffs—as if those could keep him here), and he looked to be sitting in a room blank of anything save for a one-way window parading as a mirror. 

Merlin took a glance at himself and was put off to see that someone had stuffed him into a ridiculously bland outfit of prison blues and greys, save for the black boots he’d been wearing during his attempted theft. He immediately longed for the soft, clearly expensive cloth of the button ups and slacks he wore outside of jobs after Gaius had shipped him some clothes from Italy for Christmas. 

The lack of bruises and the water bottle & biscuits sitting in front of Merlin told him two things: one, it couldn’t have been long that he’d been out, and two, he was most likely in the hands of the government. If he’d been effectively captured by that git of a copycat, Gilli, he’d most likely be chained up like an animal at a butcher’s and adorned with bruises. But the room as well as the fairly humane treatment told Merlin that wasn’t the case. 

He’s not entirely sure which was worse—on one hand, the other would’ve surely ended with him dying because the sort that he filed under enemies tended to not be very good at torture. On the other hand, ending up in the hands of the government because of an amateurish mistake would most likely lead to him rotting away in some British prison till he breathed his last anyways. 

“Finally awake, Dragon—or should I say,  _ Emrys _ ?” A lone voice greeted Merlin from behind the opening door, and he took a moment to take the person in. He wasn’t surprised to see Morgana standing there, all bravado, from her black as night pantsuit to her practically army-tight hair bun. 

Merlin simply quirked an eyebrow in return, noting the contempt and disappointment swirling in Morgana’s eyes with interest. He wondered if Morgana abhorred him for daring to talk to her brother, or for thinking a criminal was worthy of breathing the same air as her team. He watched her carefully, the slow motions she used as she took the seat in front of him, one leg crossing over the other and hands steepled on the table. 

The use of his two names—the Dragon and Emrys—it told Merlin everything he needed to know about this situation. It was that he had the upper hand, really. They didn’t know anything about him—which was what he’d intended. Merlin knew for a fact that there wasn’t any information out there pointing to his real name, or his past; there wasn’t a single piece of evidence pointing to who really was—not unless you knew where to look, and how to read between the lines. 

“We’re going to tell you what we know, and then you’ll tell us what you know. Deal?” Morgana looked irrefutably confident as she spoke, chin level to the ground yet nose still tilted as if she was looking down at him. Merlin could recognize it for the intimidation tactics most of these agents had drilled into their head from training days, and returned it with an unimpressed look. 

He took a moment to weigh his decisions as he let the silence stretch between them, rolling words around in his mouth to come up with the right thing to say. The look in Morgana’s eyes told him her words were more false bravado than anything else, but if he refused at face value he could get nothing at all from this interaction. He needed to find a way to twist this to his benefit. 

“And what do you suppose I’ll get out of it?” Merlin asked lightly, fixing Morgana with a casual look, eyebrows raised and lips quirked at the ends. 

“You’re the one handcuffed to the table, and in the hands of the government,” Morgana pointed out just as lightly, a patronizing tilt to her words that Merlin wanted to watch die an abrupt death mainly out of spite. 

“Now I’m not,” Merlin shot back, giving one, tiny little shake before pulling his hands free of the cuffs to hold up in the air; he responded to the small widening of Morgana’s eyes with a crooked smile, wiggling his fingers a little. 

“You’re also the ones who don’t really know anything, am I right?” Merlin asked after a beat, letting his words draw out and float between them. After Merlin had simply laid his hands back on the table, Morgana had drawn back in her seat, a disrupted curve to her brows. 

“You don’t know tha—” 

“I do, because there is absolutely no reason that you lot haven’t tossed me to the courts to be processed and shipped off somewhere else, unless you needed something from me. There is also the fact that you’re the handler for the KNIGHTS, not some two-bit police interrogator, yeah?” Merlin smiled pleasantly at the clear surprise on Morgana’s face, and he wondered if he’d revealed a little too much, a little too quickly. 

“Right, well here’s what’s in it for you if you don’t want to rot in some prison somewhere,  _ yeah _ ?” Morgana mocked, leaning forward on the table with her hands steepled once again. 

Merlin tilted his head, letting a flash of annoyance ride through him so it wouldn’t show on his face. The edge of his consciousness caught the hint of apprehension in Morgana’s tone, as well as the quick glance she tossed to what he assumed would be her superior behind the one-way window. 

“You tell us  _ everything  _ you know. You give us all your contact, all your networking, every little secret and tidbit you’ve heard the past few years. You work with  _ us _ ,” Morgana finished with an almost shaky smile, arms crossed across her chest tightly by the end. 

Before Merlin could speak, Morgana spoke again: “Listen. We know that the past few robberies have been a copycat. The camera feed had been shaky and altered, but we caught a glimpse of the man that took you out. We need  _ your  _ help catching him.”

“And  _ why _ would I do tha—” 

“Because you know he wants you dead. Because you don’t want your reputation tarnished, or whatever matters to criminals,” Morgana listed off, and paused, letting it sink in. 

“Because you’ll be free,” She continued, the smile on her face down-right smug and self-satisfied when she succeeded in freezing Merlin in his tracks. Her eyes bounced over to the window once more, and Merlin could almost sense the irritation buzzing from whomever was behind the glass. 

“Free?” Merlin echoed, raking his eyes from the handcuffs to the small room they’d tossed him into, before finally stopping on Morgana, whose black hair was glinting in the light and still looked smug. 

“You won’t be in prison, but rather hired as a sort of…  _ consultant _ for MI6—more specifically, for the KNIGHTS. We know you’ve gotten involved in some nasty business abroad, and it’s in our interests to get all your contacts,” Morgana explained, and Merlin hummed under his breath, running calculations in his head. 

He could risk ignoring this deal and force himself to deal with prison, if only for a few months till he figured out how to escape (which he’d undoubtedly do with Will and Gaius’s help). But it would mean putting his main goal on the back burner while he tried to make up for his mistakes, and it sent pangs of irritation through him. On the other hand, if he took up this deal he’d most likely have to deal with some sort of 24/7 surveillance, which would be easy enough to slip. But he’d also have to work and deal with Arthur Pendragon, which might be a little too much for his heart and brain (and his sexual drive, but that was easy enough to ignore). 

The request for  _ just _ his contacts was slightly insulting, if not downright offensive. Merlin knew he’d done well to hide how intimately involved he was in the execution of his thefts, but it was one thing to willingly hide all that and another to see that even the government believed he was merely a middle man of sorts. The lofty air of Morgana’s words told him she fell into the latter, and it sent jolts of disbelief through him. Well, he could prove them wrong, he supposed. 

“How long would I be working with you?” Merlin asked slowly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his seat. 

“Until we no longer have need of your knowledge,” Morgana replied, arms still crossed but lips beginning to curl into a smile; Merlin cursed. He was getting too easy to read, if MI6 handlers could get a read on him. But he was feeling a little eager at the chance of this break, the chance to be free of the possibility of prison. 

“And then what?” 

“And then we figure it out, but case in point:  _ you’re not going to prison,”  _ Morgana emphasized, and the remaining tension in Merlin’s shoulders dropped; he flashed her a grin, genuine as the art he stole. 

“Well, I suppose the first thing you should know is that my name is actually Merlin.” 

—

Merlin agreed. Of course he agreed. In a toss up, prison versus saying yes to some devil’s deal type bullshit, he was obviously going to make a deal with the devil. He was an expert at escaping annoying situations, and this wasn’t going to be any different. 

There was also the matter of the irritating ankle monitor that would alert Morgana any time he left the pre-decided vicinity of the hellish warehouse she’d driven him to and declared their headquarters. Merlin had taken one look at the place and immediately wished he’d added in liveable lodging to his requirements. 

_ “If we’re going to do this, I have some requirements,” Merlin drawled, sorting through the pile of clothes Morgana’s coworker, Guinevere, had dropped onto the table with a squinty-eyed, suspicious look at him. By now, he’d come to the quick realization that all of Arthur’s team knew of his deceit, and thus he was most likely declared as enemy of the state #1 by all of them.  _

_ “Requirements?” Morgana repeated, a dubious look on her face from where she was sitting next to Guinevere.  _

_ “What? You thought I would roll over and obey the government without having a few demands myself?” Merlin retorted, raising his eyebrow when Morgana rolled her eyes. Guinevere simply shot him another suspicious look, gaze focused on Merlin’s hands, which were currently picking at the pitiful state of the wrinkled suit-jacket on the table.  _

_ “Go on,” Morgana waved a hand, and Merlin grinned widely when a long suffering Guinevere pulled out a notepad and pen.  _

_ “I will have an associate move all of my technology and hardware to whatever hell hole you’ll be sticking me in _ — _ privately. I’ll also be using my own phones because they have information I can’t get elsewhere. I won’t disclose their identity, you won’t interact with them, and I refuse to use anything other than my own tech,” Merlin rattled off, eyeing the white stain on the navy button up with skepticism.  _

_ “Easy enough,” Morgana murmured, to which Guinevere responded by furious scratching on paper.  _

_ “No asking questions if you don’t want to know the answers, especially when I have to contact some shady people for you,” Merlin hid a grin when Morgana looked pained to have to agree, but he knew she would. The government would get their hands messy to catch bigger fish than criminals caught for art theft, forgery, counterfeit, racketeering, etc.  _

_ “I get shipments from abroad _ — _ all strictly legal stuff, I’ll have you know _ ,”  _ Merlin added when he saw Morgana’s eyes narrow, “ _ — _ and I’d like to still receive them.”  _

_ “What’s in them?” Guinevere spoke directly to him for the first time since she’d gotten there, a genuinely curious look on her face.  _

_ “Suits, shirts, shoes, watches and jewelry _ — _ everything a man needs,” Merlin answered, taking pleasure in the look of disbelief crossing their faces.  _

_ “You’re serious?” Morgana’s eyebrows looked like they would fly off her face, and Merlin bit back a laugh.  _

_ “Oh, I’m always serious with my clothes.”  _

Merlin smoothed his hands down the silk of his pants, letting himself sink into the plush seat at the head of the table. It was true, the outside of the warehouse looked like hell itself had picked the exterior decorations, but the inside of the place was well furnished, and well-lit. 

Some nondescript agent had shown him to a room in the back corner of the place before flouncing off to do governmental stuff, or whatever it was they did when they weren’t bothering Merlin. The place also had an area to workout in, filled with weights and enough contraptions to keep Merlin busy for weeks. And of course, the pi è ce de r é sistance: the large center table, two whiteboards, and the large load of his tech that he’d had Freya drop off under a disguise before he arrived. 

“Feeling nervous, Merlin?” Morgana asked with a wicked smile from where she was sitting next to him, eyes dropping down to the way Merlin kept running his hands down his pants. She’d started using his real name as much as she could after he revealed that Emrys was just an alias, even emphasizing it out of nowhere when she spoke. 

“Nervous? Me? Never,” Merlin forced a grin, forcing his hands to still on his thighs. He took another glance down at the list of contacts he’d been compiling himself to catch his copycat, which hadn’t changed much since discovering the other’s identity. Gilli, as Will had told him, had many of the same ties Merlin had assumed he would have; it was just a matter of finding out which lead was the correct one. 

“Really? You’re not at all nervous about seeing  _ Arthur _ again?” Morgana’s grin was devilish now, and Merlin regretted ever agreeing to her harebrained scheme in the first place. 

The thought of Arthur brought up a new wave of emotions in him; he hadn’t seen the man since their run in at the coffee shop (which, on second thought, wasn’t a run in anymore than his name was Emrys), but the man had been on his mind since. Merlin felt guilty everytime he thought of how he’d pulled the wool over Arthur twice, but forced apathy because he knew he had to. Arthur wasn’t special; he’d lied about his identity to everyone he met, save for a rare few that had been in his life longer than he remembered. 

At the same time, Arthur  _ was _ special. He’d caught Merlin’s attention, and hadn’t let go of it since. From the insight he’d gotten into the agent from hours and hours of clips, Merlin knew Arthur was  _ different.  _ Idiotic, impulsive, and partial to make decisions that ended in explosions; at the same time, he was loyal (apparent from the time he’d taken a bullet meant for Gwaine on a mission), undefiantly caring (staying by Morgana’s side even when the news of them being related through an affair came out), and ridiculously handsome in a way that made Merlin ache with desire. 

“No, I can’t say I am,” Merlin replied coolly, shaking his hands out before calmly joining them together on the table. Morgana gave him a disbelieving look, before looking away with an amused smile. 

A knocking sound at the entrance of the warehouse echoed through the place, and Merlin watched Morgana wait a moment, before nodding at the subsequent text alert on the phone she’d established as the “official comms phone.” Before he could stop himself, Merlin grabbed Morgana’s wrist, swallowing when she raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Does—does Arthur know? Who I am?” Merlin could feel his voice shake, but he soldiered on. Morgana’s face hardened, and then softened as she examined him, a small sigh escaping her lips. 

“Yes. Gwen and I briefed them a few nights ago, so it’s had time to …  _ simmer _ ,” Morgana drawled, lips pursed as another knock echoed through the warehouse. Merlin took the answer for what wasn’t said; the group of burly agents known as the KNIGHTS had had time to let the knowledge that they’d let the Dragon slip under their very noses sit for a few nights and weren’t as pissed as they were upon finding out. 

Merlin released her wrist and waved her off, unable to help himself from returning the wry smile Morgana shot him; he’d found himself inadvertently becoming fond of the spitfire Pendragon, with her quips and eye rolls every time he did something that embarrassed himself. He watched her stalk over to the door with growing apprehension, heart beating calmly even as his thoughts flew off in a million different directions. 

The door swung open, and seven people marched in. Merlin’s eyes caught on blonde, and he couldn’t look away, even as Arthur Pendragon’s look of hardened fury and thin, pressed lips came into sight, curled fists resting at his sides. 

Merlin’s heart plummeted, and he forced himself to sit up straight in his seat as the rest of the group filed in, various expressions of disbelief on their face; the undercurrents of anger stirred in all of them, and Merlin wished he’d also added that he should have access to a weapon at all times to his requirements. But even as the men’s anger swept over him, Merlin straightened himself and scratched a charming smile onto his lips. 

_ It was time to blow this joint  _ (he could already hear Will bitching). 


	5. fury & intelligence gathering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're wondering how im updating so quickly... don't ask me, ask god. a little bit of a longer chapter this time, weee, things are building up~ 
> 
> also, in case you didn't know, these are all unbetaed so lmk if there's huge mistakes lol 
> 
> anyways, enjoy !! leave a comment if you'd like ;D

_ “Arthur, walk with me,” Morgana’s voice was crisp, and she sounded far too functioning for such an early morning. He gave her a narrow eyed look, but stood up when it looked like she was about to start tapping her foot in impatience. “And bring that coffee with you, you’re going to need it.”  _

_ “What do you want now?” Arthur grumbled, falling into step with her as they dodged their way through the crowd of new recruits lining the main halls. He noted that she was leading him towards the less used corridors, where no one without the same clearance as them would be caught dead.  _

_ “You’re aware they caught the Dragon last night.”  _

_ Arthur hummed in agreement, taking a sip of his coffee. He’d been pissed to find out that they’d been left out of the arrest of the Dragon, even though his team had been spearheading the entire thing. He was also irrationally pissed off to find out that the Dragon had been captured so easily _ — _ apparently found knocked out inside the ballroom of all places.  _

_ Thinking about the ballroom made a small smile curl around his lips; he couldn’t help but think of Emrys, and the awkward, yet enjoyable conversation they’d shared at Monmouth Coffee. The man was enamoring to look at, all long legs and cheekbones resting below knowing blue eyes. Arthur felt like the other was seeing straight through him, as if he knew more about him than Arthur knew about himself.  _

_ “His identity,” Morgana paused, catching Arthur’s gaze for a moment, and he realized they’d paused in the middle of the empty hallway. “They sent me a picture of him this morning, and I plan on showing it in the briefing I’ve called later. But I thought I should tell you first.”  _

_ Arthur raised his eyebrows, surprised at Morgana’s willingness to share information. While he was the leader of their team, Morgana enjoyed lording the information she got before them as their handler just to see Arthur huff and roll his eyes. This was new, and it didn’t sit well with him.  _

_ “Why, ‘gana? Don’t tell me _ — _ it really was that stoned off his arse janitor we talked to a few months ago?” Arthur squinted, grin falling flat when Morgana didn’t return any of his humor. If anything, the grave look on her face grew with every word.  _

_ “It’s Emrys, Arthur,” She said quietly instead, arms crossed across her chest and lips pressed into a thin line. Arthur felt like his brain had stopped working momentarily, and he took a second to just stare blankly at Morgana.  _

_ “What?” Was what came out of his lips oh so eloquently, and he flinched at the way Morgana’s eyes softened in understanding ( _ — _ understanding of what? Understanding the way his heart was folding itself into a tight, impenetrable box? Understanding the way he wished she hadn’t told him in the first place?)  _

_ “Arthur, Emrys is the Dragon.”  _

Arthur hadn’t let go of the fury that had rolled through him upon the reveal of the Dragon’s true identity, and by the looks on his men’s face as they marched into the warehouse, neither had they. It was gratifying; none of them had ties to  _ Merlin,  _ the man’s true name, but they’d seen how quickly Arthur had latched onto Emrys, and thus, had formed their own anger from that. Gwaine had insisted they all drink themselves into a stupor the night after Morgana’s briefing, and it still hadn’t been enough to sway his emotions. 

The sight of the thief sitting calmly at the head of the table sent a ripple of betrayal and anger through him, and Arthur almost faltered in his steps. Almost. Instead, he tucked it down inside of him and forced himself to sit at the opposite end of the table, fingers intertwined tightly as the rest of his men filed into the seats next to him. Morgana and Em—no, Merlin, were silent at the opposite end, each with disarming smiles on their lips. 

“Emrys, this is—” 

“Actually,” The same thick, American accent that had been invading Arthur’s dreams cut into Morgana’s introduction, followed by an amused quirk of his lips, “it’s Merlin. Use my name if we’re going to be, ah,  _ partners _ .” 

Arthur jolted at the way Merlin slid out of an American accent and into what he assumed was his true accent, scottish vowels drawn out and tilting in the silence between all of them. He couldn’t help but stare at the pink of Merlin’s lips as he spoke, glossy under the shine of the warehouse. Arthur’s eyebrows furrowed when Morgana merely looked amused at Merlin’s interruption, even rolling her eyes in the same way she did when Arthur said something borderlining idiotic to her. 

“Alright,  _ Merlin,  _ these are the KNIGHTS. I’m assuming you already know who everyone is, but I’m sure they know next to nothing about you, you hermit,” Morgana continued, a playful grin as she made a flourishing gesture towards Merlin. 

“You sure you haven’t been ruining my reputation, you witch?” Merlin teased back, and Arthur saw red for a second when the thief had the audacity to curl his fingers around Morgana’s wrist in an intimate action. 

“Don’t touch my sister,” Arthur snapped before anyone could say anything else (and he knew someone was bound to say something, what with Leon’s eyes bugging out like they would fall out of his head). “And don’t you dare speak to her that way.” 

“ _ Arthur _ —” Morgana began to speak, a furious look spilling across her face. She had pulled her wrist away from Merlin, but didn’t object when Merlin patted her hand soothingly. The rest of the room sat in tense silence, watching the exchange between them like a damn tennis match. He could see Lance’s hand resting on his waist, where his gun was no doubt tucked away (Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes—his men really had low expectations of his threshold for bullshit before becoming violent). 

“Why not?” Merlin interrupted coolly, voice low and tinged with amusement that sounded forced to everyone due to the deep furrow of his brows. “Who are you to tell me how to talk to someone?” 

“You’re a bloody criminal, that’s why. And I’m the man keeping you out of jail,” Arthur replied, jaw tight and clenched. He resisted the urge to take his words back when a look of cold fury and fear flashed across Merlin’s eyes, fingers curling into two tight fists on the table. 

Morgana had filled him on the details of this little  _ deal.  _ Arthur had the power to snap his fingers and send Merlin to prison any time he wished; the only reason he didn’t was because he knew how badly they needed the criminal’s contacts to catch their targets (and Morgana had impressed upon him how much she would kick his ass if he didn’t use Merlin’s resourceness to its fullest capability). And a small part of him knew he would never be forgiven if he played a part in sending Merlin to prison, even if the larger part of him said who was he to care for a criminal’s forgiveness? 

“Big man in the room, are you?” The tone of Merlin’s voice had dropped to freezing, and without realizing, Arthur had sat up straight, shoulders tensing in anticipation of danger. A quick glance around told him everyone else had reacted similarly, more hands resting on their guns than had been before. “Then why  _ don’t _ you send me to pris—” 

“You two are acting like ruddy teenagers, what with this pissing contest of your’s,” An irritated voice broke in, and Arthur looked up to see Gwen striding in, lips pursed and a royally pissed off look on her face. He winced, and had to stifle a laugh at the baffled look on Lance’s face at his fiance’s choice of words. 

“Apologies, Guinevere,” Merlin was the first to speak up, looking properly chastened as he leaned back in his seat; the chilly, tense air that had pervaded the room immediately dropped, and Arthur felt the tight feeling around his chest loosen. Leon gave him a look, and he knew the other had felt the change as well. 

Arthur tilted his head in apology when Gwen looked over at him next, and she rolled her eyes, knowing that was the best she’d get while they were still in front of an unknown variable. He took the few seconds of silence to let the greedy, starving part of himself properly take in Merlin. 

The thief was dressed in a tight, cashmere turtleneck that molded to the lines and contours of his neck in a way that should be illegal. Arthur’s eyes roamed over the broad shoulders encased in a navy blazer, which tapered down to a criminally thin waist circled by silk, black pants. When he looked back up, it was to see Merlin watching him intently, eyes narrowed and an unreadable look on his face. Arthur glanced away when Gwen tapped her nails and pulled up a familiar picture on the screen, glad for the obvious distraction. 

“Continue your introduction, and then I’ll get to the important bit, okay, Merlin?” Gwen’s voice had softened, and Arthur felt the familiar anger surge up in him again. What was it about Merlin that had Gwen and Morgana, arguably their two sharpest minds, treating him like glass? 

“Right,” Merlin cleared his throat, an almost charming smile gracing his lips as he looked over at them, their eyes meeting for a moment. “The name’s Merlin; as you know, I’m an art connoisseur of sorts—gotten involved in some, ah, forgery and racketeering business. I also know everyone and their mother on the, hm, shady side of life.” 

When Merlin finished speaking, he had a satisfied look on his face, while everyone else just looked more confused. The man had given them an introduction worthy of a game of clue—full of ambiguity and vague words that would lead them in circles. Arthur snorted internally; if Merlin was an art connoisseur then he was a jester. He noted the lack of last name, and wondered if anyone would question it. 

“Last name?” Leon asked what they’d all been thinking, and Arthur leaned forward subtly. No reason to let Merlin know that he was eager to find out as much as possible about the thief. 

“Don’t have one,” Merlin answered loftily, lips curled into a coy smile. Arthur flicked his eyes towards the man, swallowing when the thief held eye contact with him, smile growing as Arthur’s discomfort grew. It was like holding a staring eye contest with Morgana when he was younger, knowing he was bound to lose more than just the contest. 

“You—”

“Don’t have one,” Merlin repeated, cutting Leon off with an alarmingly pleasant smile, before turning to Gwen. “Please begin your report, Guinevere.” 

Arthur arched a brow in irritation, which only raised when Morgana gave him an amused look.  _ He _ was the one that told Gwen to begin her report, not some two-bit criminal they pulled off the street because the government had suddenly turned into some desperate, idiotic institution. 

—

Merlin was having a little too much fun right now, enjoying his ability to make these impressively muscular men frown by just looking at them. Arthur was the best out all of them, a furious scowl every time Merlin dared to land his eyes on the leader. It made him flinch internally, but the fury at being treated like the dirt on the bottom of Pendragon’s shoe overshadowed any attraction he held for the man (okay, that was what he’d been chanting in his mind, and it seemed to be working thus far). 

Morgana had caught on fairly early on what he was doing, and had stomped on his foot with the pointy part of her heel seconds before, which was why he’d decided to stop and turn to Guinevere for her report instead. He had to remind himself why he’d agreed to this in the first place, and soon enough, all he could think of was catching his copycat. 

“Right. From what we’ve identified, your copycat’s name is Gilli Nollar. He’s twenty three, and has been in London for the past six years, as far as we know. He’s not a London native, but from a small town named—” 

“—Broxburn in Scotland… ” Merlin cut in, voice trailing off as he stood up to get a closer glimpse of the map; he could feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on him, but he ignored it to track the red dots spilling across the map of England Guinevere had pulled up. 

“These red dots—they’re people you’ve tracked as possibly related to my copycat, yeah?” Merlin asked distractedly, striding past the table to the other, smaller table off to the side. He’d had spare time to delve into his tech since he’d set it up late last night, and Merlin couldn’t help but grin as his fingers sunk into familiar keyboards. 

“What are you—” 

“Just watch,” Merlin drawled, taking vicious satisfaction in cutting Arthur off without even turning around in his seat. He could almost hear the spluttering the man was no doubt doing inside his head, and bit his cheek to keep from laughing out loud. With a few taps and some navigation, Merlin had taken over the screen, spinning around in his chair just as all of his information scrawled across the screen they were looking at. 

“What  _ is  _ all of this?” Gwen asked softly, her tablet forgotten on the table as she took in the information loading across the screen. Merlin intertwined his fingers, resting them lightly on his stomach as he leaned back to let them process the images. 

A similar map of England filled one fourth of the screen, more red dots than Gwen had marking the screen; next to each dot were miniature profiles of the people he’d been listing in his investigations. The rest of the screen was occupied of the profiles he considered high priority in terms of tracking down, names highlighted in red and bolded, along with pictures and information on where they’d last been seen. 

“How do you have all this information?” Gwaine was the one to speak up this time, a tendril of wonder laced into his words as he turned to look at Merlin with what he’d consider childish excitement. 

“That’s why the government made this deal right?” Merlin asked apropos to nothing, standing up again to tap the screen till it zoomed in on Tindr’s profile, a club owner in East End that was number one on his list. “Because I have access to information you lot don’t.” 

Merlin caught Arthur’s gaze again, and bit his tongue at the searching look on the man’s face, eyes hooded and lips thin as he leaned back against his chair, arms crossed loosely across his (ridiculously fit) chest. It felt like a walking heart attack to be this close to Arthur, mere feet away (or what may as well have been hundreds of feet, for the emotional distance could never have been wider). His lustrous blonde hair looked soft and freshly washed, framing the Roman features of his face in a way that took Merlin’s breath away. 

Merlin shook his hair out and looked away, inhaling and reminding himself that he had a job to do. “This man’s name is Tindr—he owns the Golden Eye, a bar and club in the depths of East End; a right shady place, but lovely for our purposes. I discussed this with Morgana earlier, and she agreed to have you all meet me there this Friday.” 

“Why not sooner? And why him?” Lance asked; the initial anger most of the men had walked in with had long faded, all of them slipping into what Merlin could easily identify as work mode. Even Arthur had shed his coat of anger, leaned forward in the seat, eye lashes skimming his cheeks as his eyes flickered over the printed briefs Guinevere had spread across the table. 

“I’ve been keeping an eye on him, and my sources have reason to believe he’d been seen talking to someone that looks exactly the same as Gilli a few nights before he knocked me out. And not sooner because I  _ know  _ for a fact he’ll be there on Friday, and  _ he _ also knows I only make appearances on Fridays,” Merlin finished a tad bitterly; he wasn’t a big fan of Tindr, but he had been rather fond of how the man gave him good work opportunities on the weekends. If it turned out the other was working against him, he’d be pissed. 

“He  _ knows  _ you?” Percival asked in disbelief, looking between the man on the screen and Merlin a few times. He bit back a laugh; it was surprising, visually. Tindr was a large, gruff man, with tattoos scrawled across his hairless head, and a smile that revealed four golden teeth. 

“More knows  _ of _ me. We share information occasionally, and he gives me jobs sometimes,” Merlin told them, keeping his answer just vague enough. By the furrowing of Arthur’s eyebrows, he knew the man had caught onto the ambiguity, and was going to question it if he didn’t move on—quickly. 

“What you lads need to know is that you need to be there by 11:30 on Friday. And dress like you’re going to a proper club, not some boys’ night out at the pub, yeah?” Merlin wrinkled his nose as he purposefully dragged his eyes across the group of men. He smirked at the indignant cries from the group, winking when he caught Arthur’s gaze. It paid to be daring, even if the immediate scowl he received made him want to cry, just a little. 

“Weapons?” Morgana asked, mainly for the sake of everyone else. He’d already filled her in on the, ah, more daring aspect of his plan, and thus, she knew everything he had planned for this coming Friday. 

“Yes. Bring a gun, but make sure it’s well hidden. They won’t pat you down, but Tindr’s guards don’t take well to weapons being flashed around,” Merlin said, shuddering at the memory of the time he’d been body slammed by some three hundred bloke for daring to pull a dagger on some lad that had been feeling up Merlin on the stage. 

“The goal is to corner Tindr at the end of the night when he returns to his private office to count earnings. To do that without the guards taking notice, you’re all going to have to try and lift a security card off them at some point before midnight. Make sure to have aliases ready, and try to avoid talking to people you don’t know,” Guinevere took over effortlessly, flicking through a few pictures till the blueprints of the club filled the screen.

“Trust her on that. Most of the people there are my sort of people, and I’m sure you’re all better at ignoring crime if you aren’t talking to a bunch of criminals,” Merlin explained, hiding his grin by circling the office on the screen when he noticed the pinched looks on their faces. 

“And where are you going to be during all of this?” Arthur’s voice was tinged with wariness, eyes focused on the blueprints even as he addressed Merlin. 

“Doing the same. Wandering around the club, dancing, pretending to drink—no  _ actual  _ drinking,” Merlin added, squinting at the flash of a pout of Gwaine’s lips, before continuing, “—and trying to lift a card off the guards.” 

He could feel Morgana raising a brow at him, and flashed her a quick smile, feeling smug when she merely shook her head in amusement and turned to look at the screen again. He hadn’t lied per say—he just had  _ a lot  _ more planned than what the others were going to be doing. 

—

Arthur pulled on the fabric of the tight shirt his sister had shoved him into thirty minutes before, sniffing petulantly at the memory. His jeans were just as tight, and he lamented why they all had to look like fresh meat when they were merely carrying out an intelligence mission of sorts. It had been a while since they’d had to approach a scene like this, where criminals crawled out the walls and it was obvious that they didn’t fit in. 

Leon looked just as uncomfortable in front of him, a v-neck that showed off the beginnings of curly chest hair laying against him like a second skin. Gwaine looked more in his element, an easy grin on his face as he entertained Percival with a story of the last time he’d been at a club (which couldn’t have been a very amusing story, from the look of disgust seemingly frozen on the larger man’s face). 

“I wonder why Merlin is going apart from us,” Lance spoke up, fingers playing with the cuffs of his shirt as he glanced out the dark window. Morgana had ordered an inconspicuous car to drop them off near the club, and they were only a few more minutes away. 

“To preserve his reputation in case he becomes a criminal again?” Gwaine guessed, laughing brightly to himself. 

“He still is a criminal—just a criminal that made a deal with the British government,” Leon pointed out, and Arthur nodded. 

This deal didn’t magically make Merlin not a criminal; if anything, it solidified his position as a criminal in Arthur’s mind. If he wasn’t a criminal, he wouldn’t be in this situation, wouldn’t be exposed to Arthur’s MI6 life so early into them knowing each other. A part of Arthur still held on the glimpses of what they could have had. He would be up late at night, wishing Merlin was anything else—perhaps a school teacher as he’d dreamed once, or an artist that enjoyed attending museum exhibits. Anything but a criminal, for a part of Arthur still wished for a life together, for a relationship that ran deeper than a similar military past and wasn’t tied together by shared wounds. 

“And even if he, as you put it, tried to become a criminal again, we would stick him straight in prison to rot,” Arthur stated, sending his gaze around his men, daring any of them to object. He was mollified at the agreement in their eyes, letting his shoulders relax a fraction. 

“Of course, sir,” The lingering playfulness that had been in Gwaine’s tone disappeared as he barked out a confirmation of what had essentially been an order from Arthur, sitting up straight in his seat. 

Arthur let a small smile grace his lips at the look in Gwaine’s eyes, the anger that still swirled there. None of his men took being lied to lightly, especially not when it was their commander that had had the wool pulled over his eyes. They’d all been together through thick and thin, and they’d seen Arthur at his lowest, and his ugliest. He didn’t want to make this whole thing with Merlin another thing for them to tiptoe around. 

For all that the first meeting with Merlin hadn't been unpleasant, the whole situation still left a sour taste in their mouths. While they were called the KNIGHTS, he knew most of them took it a bit far when it came to their personal moral code (not that he didn’t). The only way to survive with a conscience so long in this job was if they could cleanly split criminals and non-criminals up; the presence of Merlin threatened that balance, and Arthur didn’t like it. 

Before he could say anything else, the car came to a stop. Arthur shared one last look with all of them before clicking the door open; they all filed out quickly, noses wrinkling at the abrupt smell of sewage, alcohol, and vomit hitting their senses as the car sped away. The club sprawled out in front of them, a neon sign with the club’s name hanging off the wall crookedly and glowing bright pink in the night. Women and men of various ages and sizes loitered around the area, clothes getting scantier as Arthur scanned the crowd. 

“Split up after we get a lay of the land, alright?” Arthur murmured lowly, not bothering to check if they’d heard him as he strode into the club—he knew they had. They always heard him. Leon and Lance were comfortable presences on his right and left as they walked in, close enough to pull each other out of any danger they spotted. 

The guards at the entrance barely glanced at them as they walked in, eyes quickly adjusting to the bright, flashing lights of the club. It took a second of glancing around, but when Arthur realized what the place was, his mouth dried quickly (a look at his men told them they were in the same boat, especially Lance, whose eyes were glued to the floor like looking up would be an act of infidelity in and of itself). 

Merlin had brought them to a strip club. Yes, it could be blamed on Arthur for not researching this place deeper, but when he’d heard the plan was Morgana approved, he’d decided to go ahead and trust his sister. He curled his lip at the half naked girls spinning around the bars; seems his trust had been misplaced. Arthur caught Leon’s eyes with raised brows when a sudden hush fell across the club, and he scowled when men and women alike began to jostle past them to get closer to the center stage. 

“What’s going on—” Elyan, who’d been quiet thus far, began to ask, eyes wide as one of the women stalking across the floor drew a little too close to him. Arthur fought the urge to laugh when Elyan turned wide, betrayed eyes on him, but before he could respond, another, larger man shushed them. 

“Who—” Arthur turned to the man with a scowl, which only grew when the man shushed him again. 

“Quiet lad! I’m guessing it’s your first special, but the Dragon’s about to get on stage and we don’t need you newbies messing it up for us,” The man said in lieu of anything else, before bustling away into the crowd they’d been inadvertently drawn into. 

“Did he say the  _ Dragon _ ?” Percival asked, voice low yet carrying over the din of the crowd. All of them shared a look at the same time, realization dawning as they turned as one to snap their eyes on the stage. Just as they turned, a sharp spotlight snapped to the middle of the curtains at the end of the stage, and Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

The curtains drew apart, the spotlight grew in power, and a sharp intake of breath spread through the room. A lone figure sat on a black chair in the center of the stage, and all he could see was miles of pale legs, bare save for black, strappy heels that looked like they’d cause even experienced strippers to stumble. The spotlight dragged up the body of the man on stage, and Arthur’s breath caught in his throat. 

“ _ Holy shit _ ,” Gwaine murmured lowly, voice coming out breathy and disbelieving.  _ Holy shit  _ was right indeed; Arthur’s lips parted in shock. 

Merlin—for it was clearly Merlin, round, pink lips smiling coyly from under a mask that covered the top half of his face—sat on the chair, legs crossed languidly and bare torso pressed to the back of the chair. He was clad in tiny shorts, black as night and the lights bouncing off it told Arthur it was leather. Arthur’s throat was dry as he dragged his eyes up the expanse of exposed skin; at least he knew why Merlin was called the Dragon now. 

A large, black dragon tattoo sat curled on his toned stomach, starting from just below his pecs and extending into his shorts. Arthur wet his lips at the thought of peeling away the rest of the cloth obscuring the dragon, and ripped his gaze away to look at Merlin’s eyes—which were staring straight at him. Blue eyes danced in mirth under the bright lights of the club, and yet they held onto Arthur’s gaze, even as sultry music began to filter in through the speakers. 

“No wonder he was so vague about what he was going to be doing,” Elyan whistled loudly when Merlin finally began to move on stage, legs spreading wide to the beat of the music and hands, hands that were covered in leather gloves, dragging down the sides of his torso. 

Arthur nodded sharply, eyes never leaving the sight of Merlin rolling his hips off the chair in one fluid motion, one hand wrapping around the top of the chair as he used it to push himself in the air. A cattish smile appeared on Merlin’s lips as he continued his motions on the chair, legs straddling the hard edges of the chair as he moved his body into odd, flexible poses along to the beat of the music. Arthur noted the easy movements of the thief even in heels, not stumbling or stuttering once as he moved his way to behind the chair. 

“Oh gods,” Was spilling out of Arthur’s lips as he watched Merlin slowly press his spine against the chair before tipping himself back, forearms straining with muscle as he wrapped them above the seat of the chair. 

Heat went straight to Arthur’s groin as he watched Merlin stretch out on the chair, chin tipped up as the back of his head rested on the chair, body sprawled out for everyone to watch. The cheers in the crowd grew in volume when Merlin hooked two fingers into the waistline of his shorts and dragged them down an inch teasingly, smirk growing with the volume. Money rained onto the stage, and Arthur had the absurd urge to throw his wallet out as well. 

“You think he’d be offended if I threw some cash up there?” Gwaine asked, grinning into the drink he’d somehow acquired while Arthur had been caught in a spell at the sight of Merlin. 

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but bit down harshly on his bottom lip when Merlin drew his knees into his chest, only to raise them straight up; this only revealed the sharp lines of the thief’s abs, defined and gleaming with sweat as the man moved his legs in almost slow motion, looking as if he was walking in the air above the chair. People began to holler as Merin brought his legs up and down, till his arse was on full display. Arthur swallowed as the man hovered there for a moment, before pulling himself off the chair quickly, straddling it once and spinning it around before sliding off it in slow, controlled movements. 

“Did you miss me?” A provocative voice drawled, and it took Arthur a second to realize it was Merlin speaking, voice echoing through the crowd even as the cheers crescendoed into screams. A shiver trailed down Arthur’s spine when Merlin let out a breathy laugh, growing silent as he approached one of the poles near the edge, one long leg wrapping around the metal with a practiced ease. 

“I understand what he’s up to now,” Lancelot suddenly said, and all of them followed his gaze to Merlin. Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he snapped out of it, impressed at the sight of Merlin resting the weight of his upper body on one of the blushing, clearly newer guards near the stage, a flirtatious smile on his face. At least the man knew how to use his assets. 

“Stare any longer and your face will freeze like that, Princess,” A leering Gwaine whispered to Arthur, leaning out of reach with a bright laugh when Arthur shot him a poisonous look. 

Arthur took one last glance at the stage, wordlessly punching Gwaine in the arm when he snickered. Merlin had unwrapped himself from the pole and was resting on his knees near the edge of the stage, legs spread and letting clubbers shove bills into his waistband with a wide grin. The song was drawing to an end, and he let himself watch long enough to make sure that Merlin had walked off the stage towards the back entrance (and if he let himself be made fun of just to watch Merlin shake his arse for a willing customer, that was for him to know and think about later). 

“Come on,” Arthur’s voice was rough as he finally spoke, signaling to his men. “Merlin’s probably waiting by the side.” 

Arthur didn’t wait for them to verbally agree, pushing through the crowd of people until he was finally outside, taking a gasping breath as the cold air brushed against his skin. He waited until they were all caught up next to him, bodies buzzing with impatience as they raked their eyes across what seemed to be an empty side area. Arthur was about to curse in irritation and stalk back inside, when a heeled foot stepped out of the shadows in the corner. 

“Liked my little performance, boys?” A voice teased from the corner, and Arthur inhaled sharply in surprise when Merlin practically melted out of the shadows. 

The man was wearing a large coat now, black padding hiding the curves of his lithe body. The mask was long abandoned, and Arthur’s eyes caught on the glittery eyeshadow swiped across Merlin’s eyelids, matching the gloss of his lips. His long neck was exposed to the light, pale and unmarked in a way that was begging for Arthur to bite into it. He took a second to allow himself to appreciate the sight in front of him, storing the image away to enjoy later, before snapping into business mode. 

“What were you doing out there? Flashing your face to everyone in the damn place—did you even get what we came here for?” Arthur snapped, ignoring the pang in his heart at the way Merlin’s teasing smile dropped immediately, lips flattening into a hard line. 

“I got the fucking card—happy?” Merlin spit out as he threw a small, white card at their feet. Arthur pursed his lips at the silence that stretched between them, even as the heat of his men behind him bled support for him. 

“Yeah, happy,” Arthur echoed emotionlessly, biting back a furious noise when Merlin didn’t say anything else, striding forward and slamming his shoulder against Arthur’s as he strode into the club without looking at any of them. 

“Hm, that went well,” Gwaine commented into the silence, laughter apparent in his voice. 

“Shut up, Gwaine.” 

  
  



End file.
